


Burned Out

by NervousAsexual



Category: Hard Core Logo (1996)
Genre: Fight Sex, Implied Ghost Fucking, Love/Hate, M/M, Post-Canon, Yuletide Treat, graverobbing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:20:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27367945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NervousAsexual/pseuds/NervousAsexual
Summary: They never do find Joe Dick's body. That's because unlike some people Billy Tallent puts some thought into things.
Relationships: Joe Dick/Billy Tallent
Comments: 3
Kudos: 13
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	Burned Out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spuffyduds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spuffyduds/gifts).



What the fuck did Joe think would happen? The bullshit about Bucky Haight, and the benefit, and all the other fucking lies, it was all gonna catch up to him eventually. But he didn't think about that. Joe never thought farther ahead than his next shot.

Billy, though? He makes a plan. He follows the plan. He gets away with shit.

That's why they never find the body.

It's easy. If you just put a little thought into things, it's crazy what you can do. Billy rolls up to Cache Creek, parks his broke-down piece-of-shit truck under the "Hungry? Herbie's" sign, and leaves the rolled-up tarp in back while he gets some breakfast.

Joe's waiting for him in a booth.

"Hey, Billiam," he says as Billy slides in across from him. "Fuckin' asshole. How's it goin'? How's Jenifur?"

Jenifur's on a break. Supposed to be until the lead singer gets clean. They'll be off and on for the next five years before Billy gets sick of their shit and takes off for greener pastures and none of them see the others for the next ten years. Funny how history repeats itself--Jenifur's reunion tour is raising cash for the lead singer's family. Difference is the lead singer really did OD on bath salts.

Billy opens up his to-go box and sets in on the hash browns.

"You miss me that much, huh? Gotta fucking... Patrick Swayze that shit up? I mean, you got nice enough tits but you're no Demi Moore."

"Fuck off."

"You fuck off."

Joe's younger than he used to be. That was the thing that got him when he showed up for the reunion tour: every time he thought of Joe Dick he thought of last-album Joe Dick, and this guy was twice as old as he shoulda been. Now he's looking not-good but not-shit. He looks like Joe.

"So what's your plan here tonight? Gonna dip me in plaster? Stuff me full of rags? You that hard up for a fuck?"

The hash browns taste like sand. Tries the omelet, and it does too.

"I'm down if you are. I bet you ain't had nothing but groupies for the last year. I been there. But you know, I don't get why people talk like sleeping around's better. There's always something wrong with 'em. Like Pam in Regina. Snores like a pig. And Tara in Winnipeg, with those goddamn talons of hers. And Mary... but you know all about Mary. What's the point in feeling each other up like you're horny teenagers under the bleachers? Me, I think it's better with somebody you know. Somebody who really gets what gets you going." He leans across the table and smirks in Billy's face. "Somebody that just seeps into your pores and never leaves." Billy closes the to-go box and gets up, and Joe sits back, tossing his hands up. "I said 'never leaves,' for fuck's sake. You really in that big a hurry? You _scared_ of something?"

Billy goes back to the truck and tosses his to-go box on the dashboard. Joe is waiting for him in the passenger seat. It's a long drive to Garibaldi Provincial Park, but they've had worse.

* * *

After a year it's not quite as hard to move the tarp through the woods that surrounds the hiking trail. It slides as easily as Billy could reasonably expect. Joe does not help.

"A mountain, huh?" He circles Billy like a bird of prey. "Is that supposed to mean something? Herbie's I get, but a mountain?"

Billy grits his teeth and keeps dragging. It isn't far now.

"You giving me the silent treatment? Real mature." Joe gives him a shove that causes him to stumble, and they both freeze. "Ho-ly shit." He pushes Billy again. Billy grabs a tree to catch his balance. The chilly air makes the rough bark twice as painful on his hands. "How about that. I can touch you and junk. But don't think I'm gonna help you carry that. Maybe if you'd bought me a burger or..."

Billy shoves himself back from the tree and his entire body weight goes into the lucky swing that manages to connect with Joe's face. A look crosses Joe's face that's a mix of annoyance, surprise, and something else--relief. His fist connects with Billy's gut.

They both go down swinging. The tarp lies abandoned as they roll around on the forest floor, kicking and scratching and biting.

And biting...

Joe gets Billy's lower lip in between his teeth and as the deja vu settles over him Billy tries to drive a knee up into Joe's crotch but Joe's thighs clamp down over him and he just barely brushes him. He's hard. Of course he's fucking hard. He gets both of Billy's wrists and pins him down, then leans back to get a better look.

"You're a fucking dickhead," Billy tells him.

"Yeah, but admit it. You love me for it."

Then Joe's tongue is halfway down Billy's throat and Billy tries to bite but the taste of vodka and orange juice and rot overwhelms him and he gets his free leg braced against the dirt and flips them over. Joe's still holding his wrists but he's in so deep that he barely notices. The friction of Billy's crotch against his hipbone is wild, and they roll, slamming into the base of a tree, both of them dry-humping the other and trying not to moan before the other one breaks.

"Go on." Joe's voice is breathy and rough. "Admit it. You fuckin' love me."

"No shit, asshole." Billy bites him on the throat and Joe groans and arches his back pushing into it. "You were--" He gasps as Joe twists under him, pushing his hips flush with Billy's. "Don't know if you noticed but we were supposed to be friends. Maybe if you were less of a possessive shit-head and more of a friend you woulda been happy for me."

"Doubt it."

"Maybe Bucky Haight woulda come to your fucking funeral. Maybe he wouldn't be tickled pink that you blew your fucking brains out."

Joe thrusts up against him.

"Maybe somebody would actually give a fuck about you being gone."

They're grinding one against the other. "Seems like you give plenty of fucks, Billiam."

"Shut up."

"You shut up."

And then they do.

* * *

Billy lays there in the dead leaves and shit, looking up at the bare trees holding up the sky. He does up the front of his jeans. He smokes most of a cigarette. Then he gets out his lighter fluid and pours it all over the tarp, and he flicks the cigarette into its folds.

He stays to watch the flames and nods to the music in his head. It ain't a Jenifur song.

_Drunk to the roof_   
_Working all summer_   
_Saving my money_   
_So I can be warm_

He's warmed right up now.


End file.
